His smile makes her smile,
it makes her feel.
His guitar makes her relax,
a feeling so unreal.

Her laugh makes him happy,
her smile makes him soar.
This emptiness is filling,
she's everything and more.

There is a love stroy,
behind every cry.
There is a sob story,
behind every lie.

His hands beat her down,
there's blood on her floor.
She scrambles to her feet,
behind her locking the door.

She left the child on the doorstep,
with a note that merely read :
"Make sure you raise her well,
I can not keep her fed.."

There's pieces to the story,
a truth to every lie.
There's always someone there,
within whom to confide.

She's holding the blade,
resting it on her wrist.
He stops her from writing,
another story with a twist.

He's drinking that bottle,
to his head he knows.
She's dumping it down the drain,
her love is begining to show.

Every single story,
every single lie.
Each and every person,
every last goodbye.

There is always a reason,
though you may not see.
He is there for her,
you are there for me.

Read what is not written,
see between the lines.
When she says she's okay,
she is not fine.

Listen.
Understand.
There is a story,
here at hand...